


Redecorating

by certifiedgeek



Series: Rose and Her Doctor (Pete's World) [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Parallel Universes, Past Torture, Pete's World, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-14 09:30:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13587237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/certifiedgeek/pseuds/certifiedgeek
Summary: Rose and her Doctor are beginning to settle into their new life together. There are many firsts in every relationship, and they don't always go to plan.





	Redecorating

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this one came from, it isn't my usual thing at all. I don't think it quite makes it into smut territory, but it might be a bit close for some. Rated mature to be on the safe side.

"Stop!"

He froze. Hot, throbbing, blood turning cold at the fractured terror in her voice. Startled into rigour he did not breath, hand still cupping her breast, his lips pressed to the nape of her neck. Her hands, which had gripped his body with passion, swung under his arms punching his chest. The force of the blow threw him off balance and he staggered back. Feet knotted in plastic they lost their grip and he fell onto the flimsy decorating table behind him. His weight collapsed the hardboard surface and snapped the feeble supports, dropping him onto the tiled floor. Winded, he gaped at the horror in her eyes before she turned and ran, knocking the paint tin onto his stomach as she went.

 

“Rose?” Her Doctor hovered outside the locked bedroom door, a smear of thick, white paint smothering his face, congealing in his hair. “Rose, let me in.”

Inside the room there was a sob, but the door remained sealed. With a sigh,, he slumped against the wall, then leapt up, checking the blue wallpaper for signs of fresh white, twisting at awkward angles to observe his disarray in the full length mirror at the end of the hall. 

Redecorating had been far more fun than he had expected, but he had lost the ensuing paint fight. His t-shirt bore the marks of a heavily laden roller, both buttocks imprinted with Rose’s grasping palms, and small white fingerprints covered his half buttoned fly, paint drying on the brass. 

He looked at his hands, skin tacky with half dry emulsion, and wondered what he had done wrong. Rose had been the one to start the paint war, the kissing and his disrobing. His trousers, still too tight at the crotch, had been loosened by her. 

It started with an accident. The moment when, stood on the ladder, he had dropped a blob of paint onto her face as she looked up. There was a wicked sparkle in her eyes as she flicked a brush in retaliation. She had screamed in pleasure as he chased her into the garden, threatening to deposit the entire tin over her head. 

On the second lap of the house she had grabbed the ceiling roller and used its long arm as a lance, smearing his t-shirt, rolling up his chin and through his hair. He had fought back, painting her face with whiskers, four fingers across both cheeks, bringing them nose to nose. They held each other’s gaze, her breath caught, and she bit her lip. He could still feel the grin that split his face and the warmth of her arms around him as she pulled him closer and they kissed. 

It had their first real kiss since the beach. Two months of dancing around the subject, getting to know each other, the new half Time Lord and Rose Tyler, defender of the Earth. Caution had chilled any romantic inclinations, or perhaps it had bound them until the pressure was so great that neither of them could contain their desire.

Rose smelt of shampoo, paint and the deodorant spray he had mistaken for perfume. Chest to chest, he could feel the thud of her heart as her hands grasped his backside, lifting him onto the balls of his feet and pushing his back against the wall. Her mouth had pressed to his, hungry and demanding. Groaning at her touch he ran his fingers through her hair, drawing her closer. 

He had been startled by his human impulses, aroused more quickly than pure Gallifreyan blood. A new heat had surged in his stomach, a sensation he had not felt before. She bit his lip, tugged at the soft flesh and he felt something shift inside him, a primal urge that Gallifreyan’s no-longer possessed. His hand slipped from her hair to her shoulder, down her back, pulling her closer. He felt the sweat breaking on her neck, her skin flushed with anticipation.

Rose’s hand had drifted south, gripping him, her fingers squeezing hard making him gasp. He had murmured her name, and she had kissed him harder, her fingers tightening on his crotch until he had grunted, a complex moment of pain and pleasure making him burn. Her fingers had found his belt, loosened it, and popped open the button fly. Inside his jeans her hand was hot and fierce. He felt his knees buckle as she groped him again and he had pressed into her grip urgently, sliding his own hand under her shirt, around her ribs, cupping her breast in his palm. 

He groaned again at the memory, sliding down the door frame and pressing his head against the door. His acute hearing picked up pillow-muffled sobs, hitched breath, the gathering of a duvet around her body. 

“I’m not leaving,” he told her, his mouth pressed to the edge of the door. 

There was another sob, quieter, somehow more broken. 

“I’m sorry, Rose,” he continued, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Whatever I did… I don’t know what I did wrong… but I’m sorry.”

Her voice, muted by the comforter whispered back. “It’s not you.”

Relief and hurt landed in his stomach like a fist. His hand pressed against the door, palm touching the wood, fingers spread wide, willing the lock to turn. On the other side there was a shift, the sound of stilted footsteps and her body sliding to the floor. With a subtle tap Rose’s head touched the wall. Her fingers reached up to the centre of the door, skin whitened by the pressure of her hand against the wood as she willed him to understand without words. 

“Tell me?” 

Fresh tears trickled across her cheeks. 

“I’m afraid.”

His heart drew tight, a sharp pain crushing his chest. For the first time since she had found her way back to him Rose sounded like a scared teenager again instead of the strong, twenty-six-year-old she had become in his absence. 

“I’m here,” he breathed. “Let me in.”

Her hand fumbled for the key, hesitating to turn it before rolling her curled knees clear of the door, letting it swing slowly open. 

His hand hung in the air where it had met the wood, blood returning to the tips now the pressure was released. He saw her looking at his hand and wiggled his fingers in a tentative hello, a tiny smile on his lips. Despite herself Rose smiled, the humour melting into tears as her hand meshed with his and she pulled herself into his arms. Consent given he held her close, brushing her hair, turning them into a ball of arms and legs wrapped together like limpets, her tears absorbed in his t-shirt. 

With gentle hands he lifted her to his chest and carried her to the bed, sitting down with her in his lap, his back against soft pink pillows. 

As her tears subsided her grip relaxed and Rose lifted her head, resting against his shoulder instead of buried in his chest. He felt her swallow hard against his collarbone, and her spine straighten. 

“It wasn’t you,” Rose’s voice was quiet but determined. “You didn’t do anything wrong and I… I really wanted… you know…”

Her Doctor kissed the top of her head, his lips lingering in her hair. “You wanted to make love?”

She nodded and released her arm from around his chest to wipe salt water from her cheek. 

“What changed?” He spoke with no judgement, his tone so gentle Rose had to steel herself against another rush of tears.

“I remembered something,” Rose’s voice was distant. “Something I can forget, most of the time, except when I’m being… intimate.”

Rose swallowed again and her Doctor said nothing, his arms wrapped around her in a loose, protective circle. 

“It took a long time to find you,” she said. “Years, I don’t know how long. The dimension cannon was unpredictable. Five minutes there might be six weeks here, especially at the start, before we learnt to control the breaches.”

“Did you travel to many worlds?”

She nodded. “Hundreds, we kept records. Tried to avoid going to the same place twice. Some were just like here, all airships and Vitex. Others were like home, but different. All those universe and no Time Lords… no-one to save them.”

Her Doctor breathed carefully, controlling the uncomfortable rising fear in his stomach. 

“Sometimes I was just in and out,” Rose continued, sliding from his arms and walking to the window. Outside the sun reflected off the pond at the bottom of the garden, its bright light shimmering on the tree leaves. “But, you know what it’s like, popping in to visit strange worlds. It’s dangerous.”

On the other side of the room her Doctor sat statue still. His single heart beat a double rhythm inside his ribcage. 

“What happened?” his steel cold voice burnt the air. 

Rose took a steadying breath, her eyes fixed on the water outside. “There was a dispute. A war, I think. I landed in the wrong place, got taken prisoner.”

Her Doctor counted her paces away from the window, each step measured and forced. Five steps, bare feet on polished floorboards, padding. 

“I was…” she hesitated; inhaled quickly, exhaled slowly. “... hurt. Tortured. I would have died, except for Jake’s rescue.”

With slow movements her fingers grasped the hem of her vest, pulling the thin fabric over her head. She stood a foot from him, trim stomach and lean ribs exposed, a white, delicate bra covering her breasts, hands twisting the vest in trepidation. 

Her Doctor looked at her waist, taking in every detail as he raised his eyes, across her chest and up to her face. Thick, calloused skin, the telltale sign of a chemical burn reached around her left ribs, a long scar curled in a cynical smile across her stomach, and a stab mark gaped a dark pink from just beneath her right breast. 

His beautiful Rose. Rough anger gushed into his muscles, he felt his eyes burn, hands tense.

“I’m fine,” she told him, stepping closer, seeing the vengeful god rising in his eyes. “It was a long time ago…”

He slipped from the bed, reached his arms around her and drew her tight. She spoke into his shoulder, voice muffled by the t-shirt. 

“I was ashamed. I didn’t want you to see, not like this. Not like that. It’s not vanity,” she stumbled over the words, “I just wanted to be perfect for you. And I can’t be. I was afraid you wouldn’t feel the same… when you saw...”

Lips pressed against her scalp again before he pushed her gently away, holding her by the arms, his expression earnest as he stared into her eyes. 

“Rose Tyler,” her named rolled from his tongue. “You will always be perfect to me. I love you. The person you were, the woman you are now, and the old lady you’ll be someday.”

“The scars don’t bother you?”

“Of course they bother me,” he exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air. “Someone hurt you and if they were here right now nothing on this earth would stop me from destroying them! But they aren’t here, and you are. And no-one will ever hurt you again. I swear.”

Rose raised a hand to his cheek, “No destroying. That was part of the deal, remember?”

Part Time Lord eyes burned with fury and Rose made a mental note to shred all dimension canon records, just in case. 

“But…” his protest was cut off by Rose’s cool stare. 

He reached a tentative hand to her side and brushed the largest scar with the tips of his fingers. 

“Do they hurt?” his voice had mellowed, eyes focused on the damaged skin.

She shook her head. “Not anymore.”

He traced the line of the sneered line across her stomach with the edge of his thumb, transfixed. Her skin shuddered at his touch and she bit her tongue, holding back. 

“It reminds me of something,” he mused as he led her back to the bed, lowering her onto the soft silk sheets. 

“Of what?” Rose frowned, confused by his sudden concentration.

From her bedside table he lifted the half inch stub of a black eyeliner, holding the tip against his lip.

“Hey! What are you…?” she pushed him back, grabbing his wrists as he reached towards her with the pencil.

“Trust me,” he whispered, and she released him. 

Across her stomach he drew a series of curled lines that intersected with the long sneering slice. Rose strained her neck to see but was pushed back, with his free hand, and so instead she watched the concentration on his face as he drew across the canvas of her skin. Above his dark, focused, eyes his brow furrowed until his eyebrows almost met each other at the bridge of his nose. At the corner of his mouth she could see the tip of his tongue just poking out, a little bit of Donna bleeding through. 

Sitting back he perused his own work, resting on his heels and surveying with head tilted first to one side, then the other. With a quick flick of his wrist he made the finishing touches then looked up into Rose’s eyes, his expression nervous and filled with anticipation.

“You can look now,” he said, tumbling off the edge of the bed and leading her mirror fronted wardrobe. 

“Oh my God,” she said breathlessly, blinking at her reflection. 

He bit his lip, “Don’t you like it?”

Rose shook her head, “Like it? It’s amazing. I can hardly see the scars. It’s a star chart? Am I right?”

“It’s the Severn Systems,” he said, gesturing to the whole of her abdomen. “It is a bit stylised, I moved Kasterbourous a little to the left.”

Rose stepped closer to the mirror and examined the map her fingers hovering above her own flesh, afraid to damage the artwork too soon. 

“Where is this?” she asked, gesturing to one of the larger planet-like markings.

“That’s Gallifrey, and her two suns,” his fingers brushed across the marks. “And this is Levithia, although, to be honest they would dispute the placing of their world, and the size of it.”

Rose laughed and twisted to see the markings on her side, “And this?”

“The constellation of Arantha, where the seas are crystal clear, the winds are always warm and the stars are so bright you can see them during the day.”

He moved behind her, pressing himself against her back, reaching around to motion to another part of the drawing.

“The homeworld of the Elec. It’s a place so barren you would think no-one could live there, but the Elec are microscopic creatures of infinite intelligence. I went there once, had to leave, they thought I was a Neanderthal child.”

His soft fingers brushed against her skin again and she leant back into his shoulder, suppressing the shudder that his touch roused. 

“The three moons of Zebris,” his thumb drew across the edge of her bra line as his fingers pointed out each moon in turn. “Cretia, where saying hello was considered impolite, and all greetings began with a kiss.”

Rose reached her hand behind his head and brought his head down to her lips, kissing him, gently at first, then twisting in his frozen arms so that they were chest to chest. She reached for him again and he obliged, wrapping his arms around her naked back, pulling her close.

“Hello,” she giggled into his mouth, nipping his bottom lip and slipping her hands under his paint smothered t-shirt.

“Hello,” her Doctor breathed, his hands on the small of her back, smoothing her soft skin with his rough thumbs.

Rose pulled his t-shirt over his head and tossed it onto the floor, pressing her body against his.

“We’ll smudge the artwork,” he whispered, half afraid she would stop, but giving her the chance anyway.

Rose’s fingers reached for his half buttoned jean’s fly as she muttered back.

“Don’t worry. It’s waterproof.”


End file.
